“It’s for PT?—”
“Physical therapy or personal thirst?” Elliot asks.
“LADIES!” Brody’s back. “Someone’s at the door.”
“So answer it,” Elliot says.
“It’s Roman.”
The room goes silent.
I sink into the couch cushions, praying for death.
“Why is Roman here?” Elliot asks slowly.
“He says Coach wanted him to bring me a puck?”
“A puck.” Her voice is flat.
“A special puck.”
“Brody Carter, if you orchestrated?—”
Roman appears in the living room entrance, looking deeply uncomfortable. He’s holding a completely normal puck.
“Coach said you needed this,” he tells Brody, then his eyes find mine. “Dr. Walker.”
“We were just discussing shower logistics!” Sarah announces brightly. “Marnie was providing medical insight.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“She mentioned your thigh tattoo,” Chloe adds helpfully.
I’m going to murder everyone in this room.
“My thigh tattoo?” Roman asks, and there’s definite amusement in his voice. “Is that relevant?”
“Everything’s relevant at book club,” I mumble into my wine.
“Well if it’s for book club,” Roman says, and then—oh God—he’s walking over to the couch. “You all seem very interested in the constellation.”
He props his foot on the coffee table and pulls up his shorts until the full tattoo is visible.
I’ve never seen anything beyond glimpses during PT—we work on his shoulder, not his legs—and the constellation wraps around his quad, disappearing under fabric at a point that makes my mouth go dry.
The room goes completely silent.
He’s casually standing there, like he hasn’t just exposed most of his thigh to five increasingly feral women. “The coordinates underneath are from my hometown.”
“That’s...” Sarah starts, then stops.
“Higher than I expected,” Goldie finishes.
“The tattoo or the shorts?” Chloe asks.
“Yes,” Elliot and Sarah say in unison.
I’m frozen, wine glass halfway to my mouth, because those stars curve up and inward toward?—
